Broads with Brains

Sunday, October 26, 2014

I’m home sick with Ebola (actually just the cough from hell,
but Ebola is way more fun to say), so naturally what else is there to do but
sit on my computer. I have been trying to watch Clerks for the umpteenth time,
but my Netflix connection keeps timing out. I wasted some time on Facebook, and
that was about as boring as repeatedly poking a rock with a stick. It did bring
up some ire about something that grinds my gears on multiple levels. Can we
talk about how annoying the concept of the “selfie” is and the narcissism of
the people who are regularly making them?

Now THAT is a self-portrait. Man Ray.

First of
all, “selfie” is NOT a word. Don’t believe me? Type it in a Word document. See
that little red line that pops up underneath it? That is proof that is made up
nonsense. Like smurfage or pafoegsiuf. Not words. It is clearly an attempt at a
coy, cutesy, abbreviation of the more substantive “self-portrait.” The idea of
a self-portrait even implies a more substantive media, not something taken in a
wink of time with a telephone.

At best, I
am an amateur photographer. When I think about the times I am inspired to take
photographs, two come to mind: for posterity, so that I may remember a moment,
or to show a different view of something normally seen. Since “selfies” are a
regularly taken picture of someone’s face, the different view concept is a
wash. It must be for memories then. “Remember that time I ate a piece of
chicken?” “Hey remember when I rode in that car and took a picture of myself
with sunglasses on?” “Remember that time I was in the bathroom?” “Oh snap,
remember that time I was wasted and decided everyone should see what a hot mess
I was?” “Remember when I was sitting at my desk?” Right. Events to be cherished
for a lifetime.

Do people
not understand that we don’t want to look at pictures of their face all the
time? I don’t want to look at my own face that much. It’s not particularly
interesting. It’s on my head and facilitates communication and eating. Why
would I want to see you in a car? Or eating a piece of chicken? Or sitting at
your desk at work? I DON’T. Believe it or not, I don’t care what you are doing
at every moment of every day. And I most definitely do not need a photo journal
of it. I’m sick of your face! I see these repeat offenders with their “Look at
me!” attitude and just wonder, how is your life that empty? In that moment you
chose to take a picture of yourself doing something not the least bit
interesting, you could have seen a bird fly by. You might have witnessed an act
of kindness between less narcissistic people. You could have paid more
attention to your driving and not rear-ended the person in front of you!

The people of Instagram don't seem to understand that ANYONEin the world can see their photos. I deleted her face. OOPS.

The
bathroom shots are really my favorite though. I might be inclined to take a
picture of myself in front of a monument, mountain, castle, work of art etc.
(again, those would be for the purpose of memory). In a bathroom? What is so
incredible about a bathroom? Stalls are picturesque, I know. And that smell you
often encounter in public bathrooms – too bad you can’t encapsulate THAT in
your photo. And no one ever wants to forget the moment in the bathroom when you
realize there are no paper towels left. Really, though, “I just took a dump,
let me stop and take a picture of myself in the mirror.” That shit happens.

Friday, July 18, 2014

I must confess immediately that I am slightly inebriated. It
has been a while since I’ve written a fashion post… to quote Rhett Butler,
“Frankly, Scarlet, I don’t give a damn.” (I was required to read that god-awful
book before ninth grade English and the scars are still there, all 1000+ pages
worth). Honestly, I’ve been trying to be less judgmental. Well, not trying,
have been. I was inspired by my friend Leslie – she just doesn’t give a shit.
It’s not in a negative way either. It’s pragmatic. She and we all have more
important things to worry about. Back to my being inebriated…

I just had
a belated birthday dinner (complete with three cocktails loaded with whiskey
and Aperol! HEAVEN!) in one of my favorite restaurants. On the way out of the
restaurant, I was given the

A Simple Guide from Primermagazine.com. Notethat in the "X" example the shirt tail meets the thigh gap...

blessed sight of a wedding party taking pictures to
my left. They looked lovely. And, entering the restaurant, I nearly collided
head on with a trio of gingers with sticks so far up their asses that their
posture rivaled that of newly planted telephone poles. This was not a family of
meager upbringing, no. They came out of their oversized Mercedes SUV, dropped
off as close to the door as possible (it can’t be comfortable to walk around
with posts up your bum), and had the most miserable angry expressions on their
faces. SMILE KIDS. You’re going for dinner! Goodness. The one left in the car,
the driver, the kingpin of ass-pole stardom, was the most ridiculous specimen
of them all and the winner of “Fashion Friday Blog Dusted Off” inspiration.

To be fair,
I am not a man. Given that obvious fact, I do my best to keep the berating of
men’s fashion choices to a minimum. I judge, but I keep it inside. You know
what? That’s a complete lie. Last week I asked a teen boy’s friends if the boy
was homeless. They looked at me like I was insane so I continued speaking. “If
your friend isn’t homeless, WHY doesn’t he have SHOES on in a restaurant?!
That’s GROSS.” I was in Chipotle, and it was
gross. Judging by the color of the affluent child’s feet, he hadn’t had his
shoes on for several hours. I digress. Mr. Ass-Pole, as I will call him, got
out of his fancy car and walked towards the restaurant, stopping to check
whatever important things were happening at his mobile device. This is when I
noticed his attempt at casual attire and scoffed.

Brad Richards in a Medoc shirt from Untuckit.com(Photo from their website)

Khaki pants
ordinarily would work quite well with an un-tucked button down shirt. I myself
can’t stand wearing tucked in shirts. It’s not comfortable. Who wants a shirt
getting stuck under their bum when they sit down, wrinkling, moving all
around…. to hell with that. My problem is that this man was wearing his button
down shirt un-tucked, but it was a DRESS SHIRT. I once before wrote about this
for ladies, in a much gentler manner.

If you stand on the side of someone
wearing an un-tucked shirt and it is not straight across, but instead looks
more like a round-bottomed w, it should be tucked in! These shirts are
specifically tailored to be inside the pants. Wearing such a shirt outside the pants does not make the wearer look casual, but like a slob. This is SUCH a problem that upon Googling “mens shirts tailored untucked” I even found an ENTIRE WEBSITE of button down shirts designed specifically for that purpose! Untuckit.com. Clever. (They are even endorsed by Brad Richards. And while he may not be a Bruin, he is a hockey player. That's good enough for me). If you want a fancier shirt of the Brooks Brothers persuasion and you
insist on wearing it outside of the pants, TAKE IT TO A TAILOR. If you can
afford to shop at Brooks Brothers, you can afford a $12 hem/crop. And most
CERTAINLY, if you can afford to drive a Mercedes GL Class SUV ($63000+), YOU
CAN AFFORD TO WEAR THE RIGHT DAMNED SHIRT.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

I’m seeing an awful lot of “football” posts on Facebook
right now (and by “football” I mean soccer), and I find myself overwhelmed with
pangs of “Who cares?” I generally feel that way about most things that people
post on Facebook, but the World Cup Who Cares 'WOOO!'-athon makes me
laugh a little bit too. Since when do all of you people actually watch or care
about soccer?

THAT'S the trophy?! It looks likea crystal ball on a dragon talon! Whereare the Dungeons and Dragons folk?

This is
beyond the ridiculousness of the Super Bowl bandwagon, the “I care about
curling (even though I’m not Canadian)” feigned excitement, and even the “Oh I
MUST watch the Oscars (but I didn’t go to the movies a single time in the last
year and have no idea what they’re talking about)” falderal. Soccer. World Cup.
“But it’s the WORLD CUP,” I hear people say (ahem, read people post). If only people were so quick to
jump on to following important current events. Can you imagine? “I HAVE to pay
attention, it’s MOSUL! People are DYING!” It would be funny, except it’s not
because it is true. Or how about "Soccer players are hot!" Unless you have a REALLY big television, don't they just look like little fast people running around with a ball?

All these
bandwagon World Cup fans seem also to not be aware of how many indigenous people were displaced to build the parking lots around the stadium. At least, if they ARE aware, then
their World Cup support is a little bit disgusting. And let’s not even talk
about the poverty in that country. I remember when I was there in 1997 and from
a bus window saw a kid being beaten up for stealing a Coca Cola. I think it has
only declined since then.

If you
genuinely like watching football and support teams, I don’t think it’s at all
odd for you to be excited about the World Cup. Let’s face it though. If you
fall into that category, you are probably not American. Americans don’t even
call it the right name! Soccer. Sacher. I prefer the latter. It makes me think
of cakes. (Sacher is the name of a Viennese hotel, which created an amazing chocolate
torte).

I’m just
rambling… none of it REALLY matters. It just makes me chuckle. I’m proud to say
I don’t watch football/soccer. I don’t know what’s going on at the World Cup. I
don’t know when it will be over (though I’m sure my Facebook feed will let me
know). And, I don’t care. It does strike
me as extra hilarious, however, that Facebook alerted me to the fact that one
of the things “trending” yesterday was people reminiscing about OJ Simpson’s
high-speed car chase. At no point have I or anyone else I know done any reminiscing
about OJ Simpson’s high-speed car chase. Who are the people thinking and
talking about this? They have to be about 1000 times more odd than the fake
soccer fans. From what I remember, it wasn’t even exciting. It was an SUV
driving down a highway…. Don’t these people know that the World Cup is
happening?

Friday, May 9, 2014

I walked forlornly to the break
room to get yet another cup of coffee and found myself wishing I was retrieving
a shot of Jaeger….. at 10am. What could possibly drive a grown ass woman to
feel the need to anesthetize with shitty liquor at 10 am on a Friday morning?
I’ll tell you what. WHINING MEN. I’m pretty certain that a propensity to whine
might be the most unattractive quality in a grown man, or really any male over
the age of 9. (Okay. Perhaps lack of cleanliness, dishonesty and pedophile
mustaches are less attractive, but that’s splitting hairs). After that age, you
need to get it together and put your big boy pants on. I’m not saying whining
is more tolerable in grown women. For me, however, it’s not an issue of
attractive or not, it’s just plain annoying.

So, perhaps
said male needs a juice box and can’t find one so he’s whining thinking his
mommy is listening, but I’m not his/your mom and don’t want to hear it. As I am
not into polygamy it is most likely I am also not said male’s girlfriend/wife
either. Again, I don’t want to hear it. And if I were the girlfriend, not only
would I not want to hear it, I would probably make fun of you for the whining.
Well, frankly, I might just do that anyway.

The topic in whining that has been grating my
last nerve lately is that of work. Perhaps I have a different perspective on
work in general being a musician who has a “day job.” We collectively call
these jobs “day jobs” and it is understood by the entire professional music
community that this is a thing we do during the day which we’d rather not be
doing that pays the bills. We only take these awful things when our true interest and skill set is not
providing ample cash flow. I’m a horn player. I want to do that. When I go home
from my “day job” I still have to do my real job, which is to keep practicing
my instrument for no pay until someone calls me and offers me an acceptable sum
of money for it. When I get up to go to work in the morning, my attitude is
such that I will certainly work hard at work and do my best, because that is
what I am paid to do. Sure, I'd rather be at the beach or the spa, but the employers and I have a mutual agreement that I will do what I was hired to do and then
they will give me a check. It works out quite well and I don’t see anything
wrong with the situation. I certainly don't waste my energy complaining about it. So, why do people come to work and complain about
having to do work at work?

Is this a
problem that comes from people having never had to work in service jobs or
other thankless jobs where you work extra hard and get paid not very much? I’m
referencing things such as retail, food service, cleaning houses…Or are these nitwits taught in university
that they are smart and shouldn’t have to do much or anything in a timely
fashion? I used to drop my jaw in disbelief when I heard about how many former
schoolmates at Harvard would get extensions for papers and projects. You know
what happened at Indiana University if you asked for an extension or any
special treatment? They laughed in your face. Oh, you were sick? No one cares.
Oh, someone died? Show me a death certificate. I'm not joking. People were asked to see death certificates for missing rehearsals/concerts. Real life training.

So these WHINERS who spend more
time whining about how busy they are and how much work they have to do than actually
DOING the work seem to have this idea that people are interested in listening
to their “sob story.” They’re missing some key knowledge of workplace dynamics
– everyone knows who’s making more money than he is. If you’re whining to me
about how much work you have to do at your job and how much it is
inconveniencing your desires to be on Facebook or eat peanuts, I am sitting
there thinking, “Buddy, you make more money than I do to do that stuff, so shut
your trap.” And trust that many people who make less than you do and are at
lower level jobs are not there because they aren’t smart enough to do YOUR job,
but because they’re smart enough to know they don’t WANT to do your job. And if
you’re whining to your boss, your boss is probably thinking, “Well what the
hell am I paying you for? If you don’t want to do your job, maybe I should find
someone else to do it.”

There is enough negativity in the
world. And there are things going on that are distressing that matter. The fact that you forgot your
big boy pants and think that I want to listen to you whine does not matter. Not
in the least. Stop contributing to the bad juju with your bitching! Nobody
wants to hear it. If I have to hear it before I’ve had ample amounts of
caffeine, I can’t guarantee you that I won’t come after your face with some
mouth-shaped foam packing and a piece of tape.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

It’s so odd
how people will assume they know a person without ever getting to know them.
They’ll see someone smile and interpret their easy-going demeanor to mean that
their life has been just as easy. I’m not the one that loses when you make
assumptions about my life or judge me. My yoga teacher told me that when they
first tried to grow trees in the Biosphere, they all flopped over because there
was no wind to blow them around and strengthen them. Strength doesn’t come from
sitting on the sidelines.

The other
thing about strength is that you have to work for it. I look back at how far
I’ve come and I know how hard it was to get to a place where I woke up in the
morning feeling gratitude instead of wishing I were dead. Sometimes I don’t
know how I’ve come that far. Surely, someone must have carried me – but no. I
carried myself. You have to carry yourself. No one else is going to do that for
you. I wish I could tell you that my faith in God got me through it all, but it
didn’t, though I hope that works for you. What did was the intervention of a
few very special people and a realization that the sun and the birds keep
rising every day no matter what has happened.

You find a
way to move yourself through the pain of whatever situational horrors you’ve
experienced. Feeling it makes you stronger. You learn something from being a
victim. The pain hardens into scar tissue, and if you’re lucky, you can figure
out a way to melt that back into a place of love and acceptance for others who
struggle. Again, people see you smile and they have no idea what or who has
hurt you. And they won’t know, because you just don’t. Want. To talk about it.
Any more. Rehashing the past no longer serves you. You’ve walked away from
whatever tore holes in your psyche. You’ve healed your own wounds and there’s
nothing more to say.

Strong
people still have dark days. This depression that lives inside me still fights
like hell to win. Kill it one day with an ax and it comes back another day as a
rock. It’s like the Hindu story of the Warrior Goddess Durga fighting the evil
God Mahisa, who changed into many different forms throughout their battle in
the hopes of confusing her and winning. Only time will tell if I will win like
Durga, so I keep fighting. Most people will never understand. Most people don’t
even notice. If by chance they do, they’re never satisfied with the answer to
“What’s wrong?” when it’s “Nothing,” or “I don’t know,” or “I’m just having a
hard day.” Or God forbid, “Mahisa came back as a rock today.”

Empathetic
friends are nice. I don’t want or need your pity. I’m not a charity case. I’m
not an invalid. I sure as hell am not fragile. I feel I have a debt to repay,
to those who pulled me out of the water when I was drowning. It’s impossible to
pay someone back for saving your life. The best thank you I can give is to have
my friends’ backs, and I do. I won’t try to fix your problems. That wouldn’t
help either of us. I will stand by
you while you fight your battles.

Still,
I’ve stopped keeping it all inside. It’s exhausting to hide sadness and joy
behind an empty expression, so I don’t do it anymore. Maybe it looks like I’m
wearing my heart on my sleeve. I just think I’m being honest. True, some people
aren’t ready to hear what I have to tell them. Maybe it’s scary to let someone
care for you, especially when it’s offered without a request for anything in
return. I’ve been told these people just have walls up. I understand - I have
them too. I’m a warrior, remember? Belonging to no one, living in a marble
fortress. I just put doors in mine to let you in. It’s up to you to walk
through them. I’ll leave the light on.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

They say you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a
ticket. This is a pretty accurate observation. You also can’t win a war if you
don’t participate. Most people would probably consider the end of the Cold War
to be signaled by the dissolution of the USSR at the end of 1991. I am certain
that the US government considered this the end, and thus discontinued their
participation. I, however, have an entirely different view on this whole
scenario – while the US stopped playing, Russia did not. Russia kept playing.
We lost the Cold War, back in June of 2013, when Obama decided the US could cut
back on its stockpile of nuclear weapons and then SUGGESTED that Russia do the
same.

It’s hard
not to laugh at that last statement. It’s hard not to laugh at the idea that
Vladimir Putin would get rid of his nuclear weapons stockpile just because his
nice friends in the US decided to get rid of theirs. It’s hard not to laugh at
the fact that someone could be SO NAÏVE as to think that any surface
conversations with someone who was KGB for 16 years would be honest and gentle.
It’s hard not to laugh that anyone thought the Cold War was over when you
examine that the current president of Russia made his move from KGB to
government official in the same year the USSR lost so much ground. And then, I
think about what is going on in Ukraine, and remember that Russia still has
stockpiles of nukes, and think about how many people died when Russia decided to invade Georgia, and I stop laughing. Not only do I stop laughing, but I feel
ashamed that the man who is supposed to be leading our country and military
recently went head to head with Russian ally Bashar al-Assad with warning of
crossing his red line – which for all intents and purposes was a pissed line in
the snow.
Russia lost Ukraine in the breakdown of the USSR. Now they’re taking it back. Despite
what the news-watching Americans may have been led to believe, this action was
YEARS in the making. If you don’t know who Yulia Tymoshenko is, it’s safe to
say you don’t know your head from your ass about what’s going on in Ukraine. She is pro-Ukrainian nationalism, against a customs union with Russia,
doesn’t support violent uprisings, and up until about a week ago has been in
prison since not long after she questioned her loss by only 3% to the most
recent president Viktor Yanukovych. What does this mean for the US? Absolutely
nothing.
No one in
this country lacking ties to Ukraine batted an eye about Tymoshenko being
in prison or in ill health. This country sat idly by, talking about the
Kardashians and having their leader appear on late night television. The only
problem with this is that in 1994 Ukraine was guaranteed territorial
integrity by the US, Russia, and Britain in exchange for renouncing nuclear
weapons (The Budapest Memorandum on Security Assurances). Russia has clearly
decided that there was no real commitment there. RUSSIA DOES NOT PLAY BY THE
RULES. I keep seeing op eds on places like Forbes and Huffington Post saying
that Putin loses if he takes Ukraine. This won’t end well for him, etc.
This isn’t a card game. And Putin is not playing for laundry money. Putin will
get what he wants. And there is NO ONE to stop him. He is not afraid of Obama.
He is not afraid of the EU. He’s KGB and he just won the Cold War. He’s also
just sent a warship to dock in Cuba – uninvited. Go ahead. Talk about grave
consequences. What could possibly scare that man? We flat out told him we were
getting rid of our nuclear weapons. Oh and by the way, Syria’s chemical weapons
have not yet been destroyed. Is there a real man anywhere in the US government
or are they all 13-year old babysitters with no clout? You can hate the game,
but I’m going to go ahead and hate the players.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

I am officially titling my lifetime, at least what has
evolved in the last decade or so, “The Age of the Specious Argument.” There’s a
whole lot of debating going on about a lot of things, and the more I read, the
more I find that not a damn thing anyone uses to “argue” has any teeth. Not
even baby teeth nubs. We’re talking Grampa Gus before the water was fluorinated
and denture paste was readily available. In general, I find that arguing with
someone who has presented their point accompanied with specious arguments is a
total waste of time. Those who find this an acceptable way to state or rebut,
usually don’t have a clue what’s going on in the first place. And the more you
try to intelligently tussle with them, the more their thought process breaks
down into a level of crazy that should only happen within the walls of a psych
ward.

I would
first like to address this misconception that has arisen as the popularity of
the paper newspaper has declined. An article is something written with facts.
NOT ARGUMENTS. FACTS. Primary source information is usually present. For
instance, If you picked up the paper (I realize that I might be the only one
who still picks up papers – granted, I tend to only do this in Europe as the
quality of American papers has reached an all time low…), a piece speaking
about how many people died in Syria yesterday referencing locations of
explosions and a survey of who set of the bombs or was believed to have set off
the bombs would qualify as an article. It shares factual information. A piece
that discussed why a person thought the UN or US government should take a
certain course of action based on accumulated statistics is EDITORIAL. It is not an article. It is an Op Ed (as they
used to be called) – that first abbreviation referring to Opinion. ALMOST
EVERYTHING YOU READ ON THE INTERNET IS EDITORIAL. This blog is editorial. Half
of the things you find on Huffington Post are editorial. Anything that can be
found inflammatory is usual editorial. If someone has imbued his writing with
opinions of his own, it is NOT an article. It is an editorial. Subjective. Not
fact. Up for debate. Theory. I don’t know how many more ways I need to describe
this.

The debate
(using that term loosely) inspiring this particular post is over the death or
survival of classical music in America. I’m not interested in taking a side in
this, that is not my purpose here (though I will say, you can’t kill art, but
you can kill a business). Some knucklehead penned an EDITORIAL for slate.com about how he
thought classical music is on death’s door. Mark Vanhoenacker’s entire piece
is specious argument. He references things like decline in audience and ticket
sales for classical organizations, cuts in arts funding, discontinuation of
classical programs on the radio. If you look at any of these things in context,
ticket sales are down but so are a lot of mainstream stock holdings like Best
Buy and Sears. So there’s not a whole lot of music in education right now;
there’s not a whole lot of education in education right now. Have you talked to
any young people recently?! In speaking with my 13-year old horn student the
other day, I discovered that she couldn’t tell me anything about the
Renaissance except that it was a long time ago. And how many people do you know
who listen to the radio anymore? I can’t tell you the last time I listened to
the radio. I’m a classical musician and I wouldn’t go NEAR the classical
station here because all they play is boring shit. BORING.

Like I
said, holes with kisses. The thing that really gets me, though, is how many
people felt compelled to push back at this inflammatory, poorly written
editorial. And with MORE SPECIOUS ARGUMENTS. I would see things and find myself
saying, “you may say classical music is still alive, but is living in a coma
really living?” Sure, people are buying audio files. But, do they listen to
them? There are plenty of new groups
popping up, while the Memphis Symphony Orchestra just announced that they’re
pretty much through at the end of the season. Nothing gives value to an
argument like an irrational rebuttal. It’s like the guy who cheats on his
girlfriend. “I swear I didn’t! Those are lies people are telling you! That
underwear was my mom’s!” Where as, the innocent party wouldn’t even dignify the
accusation with a response. “The sky is RED! It’s not blue it’s RED!” Do you
think I would stop and argue with someone that the sky is blue and not red? No.
Why? Waste of time. The person is obviously either crazy or suffering from some
sort of opthalmological issue. I feel the same way about the hubbub over the
Bill Nye vs. creationist debate. No matter what either of them believes,
neither was alive when the earth was created. Neither of them knows for sure. Maybe
aliens cloned themselves to create the human race. It is all theory.

I think the
prevalence of the specious argument has something to do with the level of
importance this society gives itself in this day and age. I actually read
somewhere that the UN folks came to some sort of pact that they would limit the
rise in temperature on the earth to 2 degrees C. I completely agree that we
shouldn’t be wasteful and destroy the environment. Thinking that we have control
over the degree to which the earth warms, however, is farcical. If we could
actually implement that kind of control over the climate, I would assume we
could also keep it from snowing during commuting hours. Opinions don’t become
facts just because someone who thinks they are special speaks them. Oprah could tell you that Justin Bieber needs to be deported. While I'm sure we can all come up with evidence to support this statement, it's still not a fact.

So, can we
quit it with the subjective nonsense now? If you want to start a discourse on a
topic, please use facts. And if you want to talk about things that have no
factual basis, it’s called a philosophical discussion. It’s valuable, but
acknowledge it for what it is. If it can be argued, it is not fact. And until
that point is understood, there is no starting point for conversation.

Followers

About Me

Over a decade ago I decided to go to school to get a degree in classical music performance, having no idea what the future economy held. This resulted in the addition to the population of another struggling artist. I play music, I take photographs, I write, and I make things. I love fashion and functional art. I believe that ignorance is a choice. And I think people need to laugh a little bit more.